I flip him off. He laughs like I’m predictable. And he’s happy about that. You know what I’m happy about—my brother, my little fucking brother—he’s thirteen years sober. Thirteen years. After all we’ve been through, this is what bowls me over the most. He had a lot of chances to turn to a bottle, but he didn’t. I know it was fucking hard. I was there, but as Lily said, “He’s ice in the winter now. He won’t melt.” I believe it every day.
